


Bring It Home To Me

by Lifotni



Category: Transformers, Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Elita is a Top and You All May Not Fight Me on That, F/M, Has Anyone Looked at How Many Tags We Have for Interfacing?, I Like How Long It Took for Me to Notice I Spelled "Scarred" Wrong, I'm Not Tagging This Sticky You Can't Make Me, Kinda, Making Love, Okay okay, PWP, Sexual Interfacing, Shower Sex, There We Go Thats It Y'all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-28
Updated: 2019-06-11
Packaged: 2019-11-06 21:36:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17947535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lifotni/pseuds/Lifotni
Summary: Elita pins her art on the wall





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to write this originally to vent my spite and with the literal intention of proving to y'all that Elita can, in fact, be written without ever hinting that she is even the slightest bit weaker than Optimus. But then actually writing it happened.

Elita swept through the music tracks on the sound system’s selection screen, watching intently as each title rolled by at the touch of her first digit.

She knew them all, more or less, having procured each track herself onto the little data stick plugged into the base. They held file upon file, each labeled accordingly to ensemble, composer, genre, date of recording and distribution; some even still had the original album art.

It had been a past time, a hobby, she supposed, to go about collecting, archiving, and organizing her music. It had once been somewhat of a mild obsession then, spanning when she was _younger_ and her voice was higher, her optics were brighter, and her servos weren’t as diligent. But now, she mused over the miracle of just being able to still have all of her _former life’s_ work still at her fingertips. Someday it would become even more useful, hence why there were no less than ten duplicates dispersed in the care of several servos.

Filed and labeled, she had the oddities, the obscure and the rarities; the ones that had been a hassle all their own to curate. But despite their unknown value, they shared the same space with the tracks that she knew nearly every Cybertronian, despite faction, could recall the melody of by spark.

But it was none of these that she eventually chose when the thrumming of a string’s electric instrument began to vibrate the speakers of her small sound system. It was a ballad, and she decided it was probably better known by those who were a bit more “outmoded”. But just a bit. Ratchet loved it, though he would not admit it, for the older medic had a particular taste for peculiar.

The mech singing had been regarded as having the voice fitting of a higher being, something otherworldly, and Elita would never think to oppose such an opinion. Their voice was ethereal in every respect of the word and it made her shoulders begin to lax in a manner that released tension she didn’t know she had been keeping.

She was finetuning the base when the door opened behind her, and the dark room was brightened by the lights in the hallway. As he stood at the threshold, her mate’s shadow stretched along the floor till his helm’s silhouette was in view beside her peds.

He had his head turned, the shadow now showing the profile of his facial features, and she appraised the angles of his mask.

To someone in the hall, he bid a short parting, and Elita knew it was to Ironhide as a gravelly voice responded in kind.

She turned just as he was closing the door, descending the room in relative darkness save for the so very minute sources of blue light from the sound system, and she did so not a moment too late as he closed in on her and arms brought him into an embrace.

Upon contact, he slumped against her, and she heard his battle mask retract.

She held him fast, an arm wrapping about his waist as the other slipped under and secured a servo upon his upper back. Then, with the assurance of a single motion by her thumb, she was supporting him, letting him rely on a fair portion of his weight against her as he clasped himself to her.

He placed his helm upon her shoulder, the tip of his nose digging into her exposed neck, and she heard his intake working, taking in her scent that she knew probably only resembled smoke and explosive powder at the moment.

They rarely touched in any sort of capacity when before their troops. It had long been agreed by both of them that anything beyond the _assuring_ touches that the Prime and the Autobot General’s relationship was still intact, that it was still healthy and secure, would be inappropriate to display.

It was now a calculated thing and they had established it between themselves how to go about physical contact when they knew more than one pair of optics were more than likely watching.

Servo holding was decided to be benign and the most optimal form of meeting-in-the-middle. Rarely was there any resemblance of a kiss, for there was usually a mask in the way, but depending on the occasions that Optimus felt enough security to show his scarred faceplate, one or two, then three, were always played to have been stolen, but then instantly reciprocated.

But the act of embracing each other was struck away, both having conceded that to openly relish in such contact was _too much_.

Some thought this ridiculous, for them to abstain from one another when in public, but they were (usually) those who did not have the High Command couple’s reasons for doing so divulged to them yet.

Elita and Optimus understood why that it probably sounded a bit odd, but simply put, it was out of mercy that they chose to save any semblance of affection for when they were in more private settings.

Quite simply put, they were more than aware that they had many persons in their command that were unable to bestow affection upon those they wished like they were when together. Many romantic partners were on different bases, having different military expertise that meant they were separated for lengthy periods of time. There were dearly beloved friends as well that were in the same predicament, as well as siblings, and even some parents from their own children that had been parted from one another for reasons of being able to better serve. And thus was why Elita and Optimus could and would not take advantage of their proximity to each other when they found themselves on the same base.

It was a matter of principle, and it was one they maintained vigorously, despite the instinct to enact the exact opposite of what it called for…

And such was why a picture not so different than this very moment, with the Prime all but vertically laying upon his mate, was not uncommon when they both convened in his hab suite.

The general had arrived at the base not even three orns prior, her unit’s ship having landed late at night when most in the well-hidden fortress were in recharge.  And it stayed that way, for they were quiet about their arrival with the evident intent of not making a disturbance.

“Hello, Sir,” had been her first word to him as she secured a pack on her shoulder.

“Hello, Ma’am,” he had responded in kind, not even attempting to have her relinquish the pack so he could take it. He knew what it held.

Now, the pack was on the foot of their berth, laying upright and with the opening undone. Part of its contents were now playing the soft music that was so very efficiently evacuating all sense of utterly resented silence that the room had once held.

Elita swayed him gently, subtly, shifting their combined weight on her peds from one to the other, back and forth, then side to side. He moved with her, the joints of his legs becoming somewhat languid, but fluid as she half-cradled him.

Her servo arrived at the back of his helm, and the tips of her fingers found the rim of his audio. Elita whispered something softly, meant only for him, and he eventually responded with a nod against her neck before he stood back up and set his mass upon his own peds. But she still held him, an arm still around his tapered waist, not quite ready to adhere to her own words quite yet and let him go once again. Reassuringly, Optimus pressed his forehelm to hers for a moment longer, then pulled from her grasp and somberly headed for his- their suite’s private washracks and switched the light that shown above his- _their_ shower.  

He left the retracted door open, knowing she was going to accompany him soon and began to collect a servo-full of cloths and a bottle of solvent his mate had left from the last, all too short stay. He knew why she liked it; it smelled similar to the same cheap solvent wash he used to use vorns ago, in that little studio apartment they had shared, and he supposed now was as good a time as any to fill their processors with a few very healthy doses of nostalgia -especially since it seemed they both had that same goal in mind. After all, Elita had yet to take a proper shower since she had arrived on the base, for clearing her ship’s cargo all orn as well as helping to get the member’s of her unit situated had taken precedence. It had resulted in her finish being coated in a fine film of dust and minuscule debris, thus muting the usually vibrant hue of her armor.

It was an afterthought for him if the bottle was even still in date.

The volume of the music rose just a bit louder, enough so that he could distinguish the lyrics of the next song over the sound of the solvent spray from the overhead nozzle as he adjusted the temperature.

The Prime sighed and placed a hand upon the shower wall beside him, letting his arm and the tips of his antennae get cascaded in the warming fluid as it rained downward.

“I missed you.”

His deep baritone carried as it bounced off the walls of the shower, and Elita stilled just as she was passing over the wash room’s threshold. Her hand had been already leaving her side towards him, ready to arrive at his back.

But she stood there silent, allowing the moment for the threat imposed by her spark to overwhelm her with emotion to pass, knowing it was not yet the time. Not yet, though it had been threatening for the better part of since she had lain optics on him as she left her ship.

It was a tightening in her chest, constricting and bringing her throat along with it as she shuttered her optics to keep the sting at bay.

“’Rion…?” Her voice was already loosened, having been rid of the octave and the tone she took with those who referred to her as _Commander_. It was higher pitched, raspier even, and that of someone that very few still thought truly existed in her any longer.

She closed the door behind her when she took her first step towards him, letting the steam from the solvent begin to collect.

His servo tried to clench onto the wall in instinctual response, and when she finally managed to slip under him and step into the shower, she truly did feel spark tighten when she was allowed a view of his unmasked face as she stooped under him.

Knees bent, she placed her servos on either side of his helm and looked up unto him. The pads of her thumbs were just in range to wipe away to moisture that had made a small stream from the corner of his optics, and she swept the tears away from collecting within his scars.

“Come’ere, Love,” she whispered as she guided him upright once again and encouraged him forward, taking his servos for only a moment before she was soon pulled against him as they converged under the spray of hot solvent.

He pressed his cheek against hers, letting only streaming drops of dust tainted liquid come between them as he pulled her close. He felt her servos arrive at his hips and sighed as he was saddled by the onslaught of contentment.

It's a patient thing.

The time comes softly, gradually. They were waiting for it, letting themselves settle with the relief before rushing in. They were foolish enough once to commit haste, having been too young to take pleasure out of the moment itself instead of filling it with what they thought they ought to have been want to do.  Now, the two dare not commit such grievances and instead took in every nanosecond as they silently tick by.

He moved first, pulling back and finding her chin in the grasp of his thumb and first digit, and she moved knowingly, expertly along with him as his lips find her own. Her servos on his hips pull him closer, and he stayed even as they moved up to begin caressing his waist in what is still too gentle yet to call a grope.

The kiss remains a testament to chastity at first, till her glossa skims along his lower lip and entices him to relent. It takes but a moment, and she tilts her helm for him as they settle with teasing each other and only letting their glossas slick against one another. They lock together for measured moments before retracting back, parting with gentle breaths and murmurs before renewing the kiss once again.

It's a frustrating indulgence.

His huge servos cupped either side of her helm with ease, thumbs rubbing her cheeks before his digits descend to caress her neck and locate the collection of cabling along the bottom of her jaw. He parted their lips, but it was only to distribute a collection of kisses upon her face; he placed one to her chin, letting it linger before moving to the bridge of her nose up to along her forehelm. Every element of her features was in perfect cohesion, and when he found her lips again, he kept his optics parted open to watch as droplets of solvent collected upon her brow.

Eventually, Elita reached for a cloth, and ushered the moment to suddenly become practical for their location as she backed from him long enough to retrieve the bottle of wash and lather a cloth with it. Elita was about to meet it to his chest, wanting to clear some of the darkened soot she had gotten on him cleared away, but he soon took it from her servo in a manner that wouldn’t allow rebuttal.

“Let me,” he offered, and he heard her sigh with knowing that he wouldn’t give her much choice in the matter.

He worked the cloth along her armor and kissed her shoulders after he watched the solvent clear the soap away. He rubbed the cloth along her chest, her abdomen and around to the small of her back, then upwards along her spinal strut till he reached the backs of her shoulders. It was a functional sort of caress as he cleaned her armor diligently, yet still allowed for his digits to press in a rub along the seams of her armor hard enough to massage the taunt inner workings underneath.

She gripped along his back as he got onto his knees, an amused smile finally playing across her lips. A blue servo groped her aft with unabashed responses from the both of them as Elita allowed a miraculously feminine giggle to escape her vocalizer. Optimus kissed her lower abdomen as she rubbed his helm, and she traced one of his antennae with the tip to her index digit before pinching it with her thumb.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” she cautioned when she felt the sensation of his lips against the paneling concealing what she knew he was entertaining the thought of skipping ahead to.

He shook his helm in her servos, and instead, he placed the cloth aside and settled on his knees. His thick arms wrapped around her, one servo finding a spot along her hips as the other traced up and down her spinal strut. Optimus took a deep intake, then exhaled with the air of branded satisfaction when he placed his cheek against her abdomen.

She stilled where she stood, processor rationalizing the profundity in her lover’s actions. She watched her mate as he shuttered optics and appeared ready to drift off if not for the digits pacing lazily along her back.

He nuzzled her, nudging his nose into her hip and distributing kisses that would eventually morph into his glossa licking a path up her armor.

Elita tensed, rolling her optics as he took advantage of where he knew her greatest sensitivities lied, but she released his helm to allow him the motion and settled her servos to massage his neck instead.

After a few more moments and the decision that they would probably be in here for a considerable amount of time, she reached back for the solvent dial and turned the amount descending upon them down till it was nothing more than a small fall from the nozzle. It sounded similar to a heavy rain on the shower floor.

Optimus placed a servo upon her aft again, squeezing gently, possessively. 

“Stand up, Sweetspark,” she eventually commanded, bending down at the waist to kiss his helm and trailing off when he looked up to her. They didn’t break the optic contact as he got back to his peds, and he moved slowly, ponderingly, as if they both didn’t already know their next move. It was her turn to guide him forward and brush their lips together till they melded and instigated a mixture of deliciously lust filled moans when the kiss took but a nanosecond to deepen.

It was enough distraction that Optimus had lost track of the smaller servo that had descended downward to the back of his own thigh.

“Move.” He heard her order, voice now drenched in what had no qualms about making his struts weaken with the single syllable, and it was all the motivation he needed to let her back him up against the wall.

Effortlessly, she lifted his leg up and settled his inner thigh against her waist, spreading him far enough to give her enough room. Her hips met with his dangerously close proximity, and their height difference was just enough to make it outrageously convenient as they began to subtly grind themselves against each other. Her other arm came around his waist, holding him close and at a slight angle.

They hadn’t had each other last night. Elita had wordlessly offered, but Optimus knew his mate was far too exhausted and would only end up pushing herself for him. They had instead settled with lazy kisses on their berth that they had eventually fallen into recharge together in the midst of administering.  The kisses didn’t compare, now having a far different intent then lulling each other to sleep.

She pressed her forehelm against his own, letting them gaze into each other’s optics and reflecting within one another’s.

“I love you,” Optimus whispered, servos holding either side of her helm again as they nudged their noses together in tandem with their hips. “I love you, I love you…”

Elita’s optics dimmed, and her expression became captivated with emotion long enough for his to mirror the same.

“I love you… Love you,” she replied more softly, but no less as sweet. She then brought her mouth to his neck, and he left his helm to fall back against the wall to let her glossa tease under his jaw.

He gasped between his denta when she nipped him, knowing exactly what collection of cablings to divulge her ministrations upon.

“‘Riel...” he eventually sighed, tone now infiltrated with exposed lust and just a dose of expectation, and when he began to grind against the thigh she had slipped between his own, he knew she was finally going to give in.

“Open,” she uttered softly, lovingly, and just loud enough for him to hear over the sound of the crashing solvent and the music in their living space.

He complied for her without any consideration, and the thick paneling concealing his valve retracted.

His leg was set down first, and two lithe digits just barely stroked along the outer perimeter of his valve. The top of her helm settled on his chest as she looked down, wanting to see the lubricant on the tips of her fingers and to hide the thrill that overcame her features.

His optics followed her every move as she got down onto her knees, and he heeded every hinted instruction when she put the same thigh onto her shoulder. Her servo caressed his other leg, encouraging it further apart as her touch assured him that she would help him keep his balance.

When his helm fell back again, her optics looked forward and softened at her view of his valve.  It was truly beautiful, and she would have told him so if she hadn’t already made him aware many times before.

She kissed the space just above his anterior node, letting her glossa lick teasingly, but only for a moment as her fingers again traversed back up and stroked him again. She slipped them further than the ghost of touch from before, pushing her blunt-tipped middle digit past the entrance and into the wet heat building along the walls of his valve.

Elita bit her lower lip as she watched her finger sink in, then listened to her lover release a pent up sigh. She employed a second, using her thumb to hold her first and last digits at bay and allow the penetration to deepen.

She didn’t thrust her fingers in, but rather pushed them as deep as she could manage to her knuckles and spread them apart. It was a scissoring motion, spreading the inner walls of his valve, and she delighted in his groaned response and in the large servo that was placed on the back of her helm.

Optimus didn’t apply any pressure, letting her move on her own accord with vorns of acquired experiences that letting Elita take her Primus-given time was always worth it.  And she did, enjoying the feeling of the tension of their time apart begin to dissipate and eventually entice her to pull her fingers out and only take a glance at the lubricant stretching into thin strings between them before she _finally_ met her mouth to his valve.

The thigh on her shoulder tensed, and she breathed a giggle against his intimacy when he gasped and fairly _whimpered_ her name.

Her jaw spread wide, allowing her lips to fit against him and let her glossa lather the outer perimeter of his entrance. She licked up the lubricant that was now leaking from him, letting it meld with the saliva that had been collecting in her own mouth since the moment she got to her knees. He felt her swallow.

Steam had collected in the wash-rack, and the ventilation had conveniently been forgotten. Optimus reached over with one long arm and turned off the solvent hastily, not wishing to disturb his mate as she dedicated herself to making him strutless, weak, and utterly at her complete mercy.

Elita kept her glossa occupied with delving into his valve, working it in to feel the warmth within him, then out to stroke the external mesh surrounding the tightened entrance.  She nudged the tip of her nose against his anterior node, working under it, and to her immediate thrill, Optimus instantly stiffened. His thighs tensed and his servo subconsciously gripped on her helm to pull her forward. Both served as the only encouragement she needed to continue onward.

Her pale optics shuttered and her servo rounded his leg on her shoulder to grip his hip, keeping him in place with a strength that far too many doubted truly existed as she continued to please him. Many times, she had related fitting her mouth between her lover’s legs to being like a drug, and of it, she was hard pressed to ever get enough. Yes, her jaw would eventually ache and her neck would begin to develop a niggling cramp if she went about teasing him for _too_ long without granting him an overload, but she _loved_ it, and that always overruled the discomfort.

Optimus was also more than aware of this, that she could get carried away with pleasing him, and even as he seemed to be trying to meld with the wall and even as his intakes had long become pants up to the steam bathed ceiling, he eventually gripped her helm firmly enough to encourage her back.

“‘Riel, _breathe_ , Love,” he teased with an exasperated chuckle.

Their optics met when she looked up, and her brow only resembled a discontented mien for a moment before the corners of her glistening mouth curved into a smile up to him. Her chin was drenched in his own lubricant, and as if _that_ wasn't enough already, he felt another rush of warmth in his lower abdomen and his ventalitions kick into another gear in response when she licked her lips.  

“Come here,” he said with the subtle shaking of his helm, offering her both of his servos to help her back up to her peds.

She leaned forward and gave the top of his soaked valve one more adoring kiss just above his glowing node before taking his servos. It was in the same moment that he heard the unmistakably familiar sound of her panel retracting.

When she stood back to her full height, one of his servos rushed downward just as Elita’s arms came around his neck to pull him in.

She stuttered a moan in the open-mouthed kiss and he tasted his own lubricant as his glossa licked along her lips in a request to let the contact deepen.

Outside, the song playing on the sound system churned his audios as he recognizes it, and he realizes quite belatedly that she must have created a list of songs with the intention of them beginning in exact accordance with how she knew she was going to have him. She was too good at that, he knew, and the track currently playing was one she was aware to be a favorite of his.

The scent of the wash had already done its job at filling his processor with memories that seemed to not be as long ago as they truly were, and naturally, most were in recollection of moments very similar to their present. He could vividly recall the melody of the track playing when they had been unpacking in their new apartment in Iacon. He had come up behind her, encouraging her to take a break, and it had soon led to her servo on his waist, his on her shoulder, and them both dancing slow. This context was different of course, but the emotion was synonymous.

With such recollections in the back of his processor, Optimus let the tips of his blunt fingertips only ghost at first as he stroked her spike.

Her lips against his own stilled as her jaw fell slack at the long since abstained sensation, and he met their forehelms together instead to let her ease into the grip of his servo.

He buried his face into the hollow of her neck and smiled to himself as she relaxed against him despite how stiff her spike was in his palm as he began to stroke its length. The solvent on his wet servo provided as a temporary fluid to ease the friction.

“Would you like to go to the berth?” His question was in the same moment of his thumb catching the tip, and it took her a moment to gather a response.

“No… No.” Her servos fell from his shoulders and took their place strategically at his hips.

“Lita,” he cautioned, but he knew her intention and made no protest. Instead, he didn't contain the thrill as he felt his spark overwhelm the logic of comfort and he brought his servos once again to either side of her helm.

“Love you,” she said in thanks as he adjusted for her when she bent down far enough to grip the backs of his thighs just under his aft. She stepped forward, spread her own legs to maintain balance, and in the next nanosecond, his peds were off the damp shower floor and his inner thighs were on either side of her trim waist.

The position took a few adjustments, and she hefted him higher against the wall and angled her hips to support him better. He pulled her close, pressing their frames as near as they could feasibly manage, and a smile broke out upon his faceplate as the euphoria finally settled in.

“Are you good?” she asked against his lips as he enticed her into another kiss. Her fingers massaged the back of his thighs, inexplicably relaying to him that she was having no trouble managing his weight.

“Yes, Ma'am. Always.” he replied, and he caught her mouth as their arrays began to grind together.

Elita was the more patient of them, this Optimus knew, and rather than going ahead and taking him, she held him securely in her grasp and rubbed her spike against his valve, coating it in the lubricant that was in no shortage of supply.

Their wet, distracted kisses were broken by the need to moan at the sudden onslaught of pleasure.

His helm met hers, and their half shuttered optics gazed into each other. “Femme,” Optimus said past his gritting denta, “that's _enough_.”

She only quirked a smile back, and from his throat, he emitted what could only be called a growl. Fingers dug into her back, threatening to dent her plating.

Elita shook her helm. “I haven't-” she hefted him higher,”-made love to you in this long, and _still_ you'll not let me take my _damn_ time.”

She withdrew her hips again, but rather than grinding their arrays once more, she thrust up into him and reveled in his sharp gasp. His plating screeching as he slid up against the wall and his helm fell to her shoulder as he clung to her.

She kissed his antenna and pulled back. “ _Don't_ rush me, sweetspark,” Elita enunciated against his audio, and she pushed back into his warmth slowly, gradually, till she was hilted within him.

He groaned richly, burying his faceplate into his mate's neck. “ _Lita…”_  

“I've got you, my love. I've got you.” She set a gentle pace, letting the acoustics of the shower fill their audios with the wet and heady sounds of the couple's arrays colliding with languid motion.

He was incredibly warm, she realized as her spike struck a particularly deep thrust and pulled a groan from him. The walls of his valve clenched around her in seeming desperation to hold her within him, but instinctual sentiment from their connection matched that of his hands, for he was _clinging_ to her, _gripping_ her as though he were apprehensive of some hint at a threat that if he didn’t hold her firmly enough to place indentations from his fingers in her armor, that this moment would somehow dissipate.

It wasn't irrational, not anymore, for she too refused to close her optics as a result of subconscious fear that when she activated them again, she would see the ceiling of the commander's quarters on her ship. It had happened before. 

“Love you,” she urged past her denta, and his response was that his grip eased just enough for his fingers to caress along her spinal strut.

She made love to him sweetly. Her thrusts into his valve were backed with every intention of making it good for him. But as she picked up the pace and pressed her hips into him before retracting, her processor began to fog with the pleasure that it was threatened to be overwhelmed by.

“C’mon, Love-” he urged her breathily, words beginning to jumble as a symptom of the pleasure she was racking into him.  He wanted for her to go faster and not become so suspended in pleasing him before herself.

She filled him completely, reaching portions of his valve that sent pure ecstasy shooting throughout his frame. His peds tightened, and he was nearly able to overlap his ankles to keep his legs steady as they tensed around her.

His resolve to restrain his vocalizer threatened to become utterly undone when she would gyrate her hips against him and churn his valve. Her spike would nudge nodes that would have him seeing stars.

But even as her hands held him in place, he began to move for her and ground his hips against hers when she would hilt her spike deep into his valve. It was an unspoken beg to her to speed up, and finally _, finally,_ she conceded.

“A’ight, a’ight…” she swallowed, and she had to still her hips to hitch him up higher to give her the best angle. “Come ‘ere, Love. Kiss me first.”

And he _did_ . His scarred lips found hers in haste, helm tilting to fit them together. He moaned into it, _finally_ letting himself give in to her and let the emotion come forth. The onslaught inspired previously hindered tears to swell in his optics, and he shuttered them away when his glossa swiftly found hers to let the kiss soon turn to nothing but colliding denta and bruised lip components.

“I missed you… Primus, I _missed_ you.” His voice was drenched by emotion overtaking him that had been catalyzed by the moment.

She looked up into his optics again, and the tips of their noses touched as she became lost within them. The pale hue of her own reflected back, and the two variations of devastatingly bright blue intermingled in the minimal space between them.

Elita did not reply to him verbally, for she knew it was unnecessary. He knew how she felt, just as he always had despite every effort she had ever made and ever barrier she had ever constructed to keep outside forces at bay. But Primus knew, just as He had more than likely given him to her, that he would be the one to slip past.

She began moving again, pressing him back to the wall to keep him in place as she thrust back up into him once, then twice to see the dimming of his optics. With the third, she set the pace, and he gasped, then _cried_ out when he was jolted against the wall as she began to pump into him at a pace that created dense, wet metallic thuds throughout the wash-rack and more than likely to the room outside. If the love song from the sound system could still spin their audios, her hips clanging against his certainly could infiltrate in the opposite manner.

“ _Fra…_ _Frag_!” Elita swore as she clenched her jaw and shuttered her optics in pent up concentration. Her vents picked up, doubling their effort to cool her internals. He gasped repeatedly, letting out the occasional sob as she pistoned her hips up into him and lean herself forward every few rough penetrations to adjust the angle and get even deeper.  

His burning hot cheek pressed against his lover’s as he felt himself nearing.  “Lita…! Ariel, ‘Riel, ‘Riel, _‘Riel_!” he chanted near her audio, trying to keep in tandem with the hectic pace his valve was being held subject to as Elita fragged him.

She knew he was getting close, feeling his valve begin to constrict around her and try to keep her held deep.

“Love you…” she voiced, her tone raspy and her optics completely rapt with watching him becoming completely undone in her arms. “I _love_ you, Orion.”

His thighs suddenly became a vice on her waist and his face fell to her neck once again, but it wasn’t till she felt his valve spasming that she knew he was overloading.

She had long ago decided she loved the way he came. He would pull himself to her, grasping her and tugging her in as if she wasn’t already close enough. The few times his optics had been open, they had been blaring and bright, lighting up whatever setting they had chosen to make their love in.

Drips of thick lubricant streamed down her thighs, but she could only feel it as he kissed his audios and eased him back to reality. “My love…” she whispered as she slowed her pace despite her processor begging her to now chase her own climax.

He was gasping through the euphoria, and she knew his fingers had now certainly left dents as they began to loosen their grip. “Lita.” He sounded a though he were swallowing her name. “Sweet-Sweetspark, don’t stop.”

She complied, pumping up into him again and letting her thrusts become sharp and timed. She was close, and she had been since he began to chant her name.

Optimus kissed her neck and one of his huge servos held the back of her shoulders and pressed their chests together. “Lita…” He nipped at a collection of cables just under her jaw. “Ariel, come for me, sweetspark.”

He was jolted once more to the wall and her servos spread his thighs wider as she gave several last, impossibly deep thrust within him before she stilled. She buried her mouth into his shoulder to muffle her cry as overload slammed into her, and she came into him, spilling within him.

Optimus could _feel_ it, just as he had so many times before as the warm transfluid would fill his valve. But in the moment, he was more occupied with administering kisses to the top of his lover’s helm as the ecstasy began to loosen its grip upon her.

“ _Primus,_ ” she uttered in a gasp, and he encouraged her up into a kiss as they ground their hips against each other to empty the last vestiges of their climax.

One of the corners of Optimus’s mouth turned upwards into a warm crooked smile against her lips, and he swept his glossa over her denta when she pulled herself from within him.

“Set me down, Love.”

She snorted weakly, her processor still muddled. “But I’ve got you right where I want ya.”

He dragged the tips of his digits up her back, sending a shiver through her. “Let's go to berth and continue this then. Is that fair?”

She nodded without seeming to add much consideration to his offer, and carefully, she set him back down to the floor.

It took him a more than a moment to regain his balance, and getting his thighs to close turned out to take more effort than he would have expected, but his mate took his servos and guided him from the shower with the assurance that she would catch him if he lost his footing. She bid the retractable door to open with the push of the button and led him out to the hab suite with what could only be called a smile of utter satisfaction upon her faceplate before she turned away.  

He heard her turn her spike away and sighed with an air of discontent. He had a preference for bestowing it with some appreciation after she would blow his processor with it like she just had, but that didn’t stop him from reaching forward when she turned her back to him to try and get a servo between her legs.

Usually, she would smack him away, but perhaps it was the context of the night that made her stop for him and let him wrap his arms around her waist from behind as they stood in just a few paces from the foot of the berth. His blue servo did find its place between her legs, and he displayed his gratitude when she snorted with mock irritation before she opened her panel again.

“Will you let me?”

She rested her helm back against his shoulder as he stroked her spike with a different intention, and she knew that if he continued, it would not be long before she was hard for him once again.

“Maybe,” she said as she turned her head and nuzzled his neck. She knew what he was referring to, but he knew it was not always that she would allow him to commit what he was asking for. But tonight, it looked like he was in luck.

Soon, she was sitting on the edge of the berth. She leaned down to press kisses to the crest of his helm when he got to his knees for her, and he tilted back to let their lips meet once again as he got himself between her spread thighs.

“Lay back,” he soon instructed with a hand to her chest, just over her spark -the spark that he knew was his to claim when the time came.

And she did, settling back onto the berth. She shuttered her optics and she took in a deep intake moments before losing it with a moan to the ceiling when his perfect, beautiful, lovely, handsome, and _stunningly_ scarred mouth took her in.  

 


	2. Post

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Very short and was written just because I wanted to know what happened after too. <3

Optimus was only ever truly comfortable laying down when he was on his front. Smokestacks jutting from his back and shoulder that far surpassed the width of his hips made any other position nigh on impossible. Thankfully, his mate was well aware of this and accommodated him generously so they could still rest in proximity to one another. Even in their preliminary nights together when they’re relationship was only just beginning to take root, he and Elita had decided on a recharging position that best suited their mutual comfort and still satisfied the need to hold one another in some conceivable way. 

It had changed only slightly since.

Elita would sleep on her back when she shared the berth with her mate. One might say it looked like Optimus was practically laying on her, but rather, just his shoulder was partially resting on her convexed chest armor. His leg would then be resting over her own -usually the left- and their ankles would rest atop one another. Elita would have an arm that was just barely able to come around his waist and place her servo upon the edge of his back. In turn, Optimus had an arm lain over his mate’s smaller, more curved waist and then his servo would more than likely have already sought hers out and interlaced their fingers together.

Yes, now that it is in words, Optimus did lay on her. But never had Elita voiced a complaint.

“Are you comfortable?” Optimus’s rumbling baritone descended to a whisper next to his lover’s audial. 

With a pleased smile still overtaking her angular features, Elita nodded. “Yes, love.”

Warm fingers inched their way towards her idle servo, and she met him in the middle. He had the courtesy to wait for the condensation that had collected on both their palms was evaporated before dispensing his fingers upon her own. But even after the considerable time that had passed between their evening’s activities and this moment now, their internal ventilations were still whirring and coolant was still perspiring.

Optimus turned his helm and skimmed the edge of his scarred lips against his mate’s collar armor. His optics were just barely open, but if he were to intensify the magnification of his optics, Optimus knew he’d be able to see the slightest indentions from denta upon a selection of Elita’s neck cables. Always her left. For whatever reason, her right lacked the erogenous zones that the other side possessed. The right was just not as sensitive to such ministrations as his gentle kisses to -sometimes overzealous- love bites along her throat. This evening -particularly during their second round after he had convinced Elita to let him lay her down- the latter on that spectrum was the more concerned.

She would more than likely have a comment for him in the morning when they had both sobered from their post-coital intoxications. It would be with humor, but there would still be something to say. 

At least he knew up from down now.

The sound system was still playing from its position on the adjacent wall, though it was not a track that he could name. Optimus assumed that by now, the playlist Elita had set was already concluded. Not that he had been particularly paying attention. He had been somewhat occupied at the moment(s) after all and his audials had been fixated on picking up every single iota of indication from his lover to what she was enjoying most.

Elita shifted the leg that was under his own, rousing Optimus from his thoughts. Her hand that was on his back skimmed the tips of her fingers along his latissimus plating.

“You’re gonna be sore, Sweetspark…” came her gentle whisper.

Optimus pulled his servo from her grasp only to have his roam her side, then up to place a gentle grip on her chest. “Most likely.”

Elita exhaled shortly in amusement. “As long as everyone already knows why…”

He nestled his helm against her shoulder. “How is that?” he questioned in partially genuine curiosity. “Who else is there who knows?” 

Another snort. “Love, there isn’t a spark on this base who can’t assume what we might’ve done when I got back.”

Optimus’s fingers began to work along the seams of Elita’s chest, tracing the precise lines. “This is true.”

She shifted and a kiss was placed upon his helm. She rested back down again. “I’ll assume most don’t presume we go four rounds, however.” 

“Hmm. It is fortunate I do not have neighbors then.”

 Her thigh shifted up closer, now barely brushing against panels (again). “This is true.”

Yes, he was surely going to be sore in the morning, but thankfully, the planned schedule for the following orn did not include much activity that would end up being strenuous.

It had been an in-the-heat-of-the-moment decision, but during their third round when he had decided it best to put his mate on her back and straddle her hips was more than likely the culprit of the burning he was guaranteed to feel in several joors. It was a position they did not engage in often, but then neither was him getting pinned against the wall of his own shower so Elita could venture as close as she could to the cusp of making love to him and vigorously fragging his processor blank. He was only right to return the sentiment by riding her till her guiding servos on his hips were quickly altered into gripping him just to have something to hold onto.

When Optimus saw that nearly delirious smile upon her face was when he knew he had succeeded. 

“You are resting tomorrow,” he monotoned with his mouth pressed against her collar.

“No,” was her immediate response.

“Yes.”

“We’re working on the ship’s engine.”

“What's wrong with it?”

“We don’t know. That’s why we need to work on it. Its fuel consumption is higher than it ought to be.”

“Hmm.”

“Hmm.” She lowered her vocals to mimic his own. “Don’t tell me what to do.”

Optimus sighed. “Go to recharge, Love.”

“Make me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading <3


End file.
